


this is only good bye

by tencentsforadance



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-16
Updated: 2013-03-16
Packaged: 2017-12-05 12:14:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/723188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tencentsforadance/pseuds/tencentsforadance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian spends his last week before deployment to say good-bye though he does everything but.</p>
            </blockquote>





	this is only good bye

Ian’s given some reprieve before he ships out to Iraq for his first tour (he’d felt a smug satisfaction when he found out the news- _not a stan._ ) and he gets to spend a week with his family. Fiona, Debbie, and Liam meet him at the airport, all looking older and little bit more tired since they’d last seen each other, but they still greet him with a crushing hug and animated chatter, all of them with smiles so wide that look like they’re about to split in half. But it’s genuine and it’s so fucking nice after being smothered by men for six months who were all scared shitless but too fucking scared to admit it and to be able to get away from the little voice that whispered at night, _out of sight out of mind._ It’s refreshing to have Fiona cry when he gets to baggage claim and Debbie bombard him with questions and find Liam clutching his hand tightly, refusing to let go.

They ride the El back.

Fiona asks him, “So, you got any big plans while you’re down here?”

Ian kind of shrugs and kind of grunts, “Gotta couple of friends to catch up with, nothing big.”

Fiona gives him this meaningful look and Ian understands: _it’s time to say good-bye._  
***  
No one really says anything about the sleeping arrangement, how there's a silent agreement amongst all parties that Ian will sleep on the couch, a big fat reminder that this isn’t permanent, that a good- bye is coming, while also serving up a chance for everyone to stare at him wistfully and he kind of wants to snap at them and tell them he’s joined the army, he doesn’t have fucking cancer.

Eventually though, the Gallagher’s adjust like they always fucking do and most of the usual shit goes down, mostly involving getting a little high and a lot drunk. So of course they have a welcome home party where damn near all of Chicago shows up to the Gallagher home, though Ian notices pretty quickly that Mickey isn’t in attendance and he pretends to not to care, but Mandy does show and she smiles so fucking big that it looks painful which kind of makes up for it.

Franks even welcomes him home a few hours after he gets in, in his own special way by asking him if he has any money, getting drunk off his ass, and ranting about how Ian had always been his favorite son and how Obama was fully of shit that SOB and his son would make a great damn soldier, living the American Dream, that Ian was what every father hoped for, and it makes Ian’s blood boil, mostly because Frank is so good at pretending and Ian is afraid for the curtains to rise, when it’ll be his turn to pretend.

Ian decides to shuts him up by slamming his fist into Frank’s face.

“Goddammit!” Frank yelled, clutching his face, stumbling around, drunk and unable to keep his balance.

Ian grabs the front of Frank’s shirt and puts their faces together real close, their noses touching, breath intermingling as Ian lets out in a low growl, “Yeah, Frank you’re right, I’m the goddamn soldier off to war, I’m what dreams are made of, sugar, spice, and everything nice but don’t pretend to give a shit, don’t you fucking dare do that now. No one wants you here, especially me. If you don’t want me to kick your ass before I fuck off to live the American Dream you’d better get the hell out of our house.”

There’s a quiet, tense moment, where Ian can hear his heart thudding loudly in his ears and Frank clenches his fist like he’s contemplating how drunk he is compared to how much Ian’s bulked up but eventually he holds his hands up as if to say I surrender, I’m the victim, cease fire. He fucks off.

His family sees who he’s become for a moment; they see the sharp hatred that’s grown in his stomach and the flashes of rage he gets, the bitterness that seeps into his voice as he tries to break the awkward tension that fills the room as he grunts, “At least there’s more booze for the rest of us.”

No one talks about it, they slide over the patch smoothly, no one gets upset that Ian broke character, for reminding and making them remember, instead the room gets loud again, mostly by his family who talk the most, trying to drown out the noise that reminded everyone that this wasn’t going to last forever so enjoy it while you can.  
***  
One night Lip spends the night with him, reclining in in the chair beside the couch and the two of them stay up late watching some shitty action movie even though it has too much erotic grunting during the fight scenes and painfully obvious fake blood. Neither of them is really watching it anyways because Lip keeps giving Ian these looks and sighing a lot, which is unusual ‘cause Ian’s favorite thing about Lip is that he doesn’t bullshit with him. But now there are tiny words that speak volume like war thrown into the mix and unspoken thoughts put on a loop, _whatifyoudon’tcomeback._

So Ian bites the bullet and turns down the television and says with all the bravery he doesn’t have, “You can’t change my mind. It’s done.”  
Lip lights his cigarette and fiddles with the lighter as he mutters, “I know.”  
It’s quiet for a good five minutes before Ian quietly lets out, “I’m so fucking sorry.” But it’s so quick and it mostly just sounds like a sigh and less like a confession, but he knows Lip heard and he knows Lip won’t say anything. Ian turns up the television.  
***  
The next morning, Ian wakes up too damn early with a hangover from hell, the television still buzzing next to him. He makes a move for the remote to turn the damn thing off because seriously, at this point he’s uncertain whether or not he needs to make a run for the bathroom. As he fumbles with the remote, the soothing voice of Brian fucking Williams fills the room,

 

“…And now we have a moment of silence for all those troops who have died overseas this week.”  
Ian really thinks he’s going to be sick now. A list of names fills the screen: John Fisher, Humble Texas, 45; Brian Patel, Albany New York, 30; Chris Brown, Chicago Illinois, 25.

Ian lets out a rush of air and suddenly he doesn’t feel sick at all, but he thinks he’s about to discover firsthand what a panic attack is. He sucks in a gulpfulls of air, gasping in and out between his knees while Lip slowly rises. He watches Ian, doesn’t say a damn thing, just watches and Ian knows what’s coming but he desperately wishes it wasn’t but he knows Lip is made up of the same stuff of him, the sour rim they’re both stained with, but he still winces when Lip reminds him, “You chose this.”

And he leaves Ian there, goes up to his bed that’ll always be open to him and a family that would have keep him forever if they could, while Ian thinks about sunny deserts and solemn faced men and his own name up on a fucking talk show or on a grave.  
That’s when Ian has to make a run for the bathroom.  
***

A couple of days later Debbie cooks a big breakfast with bacon and pancakes and eggs and biscuits and orange juice, as if they were a big happy family, though most of them are too hungover to eat it.

On this particular morning Ian knows the Milkovich house will be empty- Mandy and Lip have this whole dramatic affair with an on-again and off-again hook ups so she’s accounted for, Terry is locked up for the time being, and it was doubtful that any of the other Milkovich siblings were around without Terry- so he makes up some lame excuse to go see some friends from high school, though almost all his friends and family are sitting at the table, but no one says anything.

He ends up in front of Mickey’s house, his palms sweating like he’s a fucking teenager again, afraid of rejection. He tries to remind himself that he’s not fucking fifteen years old anymore, and he manages to rap on the door a couple times. He waits a couple minutes; Ian’s willing to bet money that Mickey is asleep and hungover, but eventually he hears mumbling and grumbles through the too thin walls. The door opens and there, in the flesh, is Mickey Milkovich. They spend half a second too long looking at each other before Mickey scoffs and makes his way to close the door.But Ian’s quick and he manages his foot in the door and is able to shove it all the way open against Mickey so he can stand in the threshold of the door, so Mickey can’t run away.

Eventually he acknowledges him, “Gallagher.”

“Mickey,” Ian replies.

And suddenly Mickey looks so fucking tired and Ian can see the dark circles under his eyes, the way they bruise against his pale skin and his shoulders always used to slump, like he was carrying an invisible burden, but never have they sagged so low, and he lets out in an exasperated tone, “What the fuck’re you doing here?”

And immediately Ian regrets coming here because everything about this screams _mistake, mistake, mistake_ , from the way there are still scuff marks from the couch they had to throw away after they’d been caught by Terry, to the way Mickey can make him feel like whatever the two of them had evaporated in the year and a half since they’d seen each other.

But Ian doesn’t want to care about any of that shit right now he just wants to fuck Mickey, like, right now. So they both decide to ignore questions like what is this and silent pleas of please don’t leave and Ian takes two step forwards, kicks the front door close behind him, and grabs Mickey and kisses him with every fucking thing he has.

They both know that this is the only way they'll ever say good-bye so Ian runs his hands through Mickey’s hair and Mickey presses them together, as close as he possibly can, until there’s no space between them. They crash into Mickey’s bedroom because they’ve gotten older and having sex on the floor has lost its appeal to a soft bed. They do the prep work fast, no foreplay, no time to fuck around- Ian tears open a condom, lubes up, and flips Mickey over as fast as he can and then-oh.

Then he’s slides all the way into Mickey and Ian has to close his eyes for a second because Mickey feels so good, but Mickey starts to squirm beneath him, desperate for Ian, something that Ian normally would have laughed at, but now Ian kind of feels like crying. But eventually he moves and they get a rhythm to the tune of hot and fast, and they truly defining the term fucking.  
Mickey comes first, damn near collapsing with Ian’s hand wrapped around his cock. Seconds later Ian comes too and they ride it out, stars blinking behind their eyelids, but they don’t hold each other, barely even touch. They both know what this is, though it took them close to seven fucking years to figure it out.

***

For once, it’s Mickey who tries to get Ian to stick around, tries to entice him with sex, weed, beer, pizza rolls, and a movie; a true Milkovich date.

“C’mon Gallagher, it’ll be a good time. I’ll break out the good stuff for ya. Even let you pick the movie.”

But Ian shrugs him off, “Nah Mick, you know I’ve got the whole family thing going on.”

“Yeah, but you’ve gotta be sick of them by know. You’ve got plenty of time, c’mon Ian.”

Ian starts, “Maybe some other time, I know Debbie wants to-“

But Mickey can always see through his bullshit, so maybe that’s why he says, “Ian, please.”

So Ian stays because Mickey never asks just demands, so he must really want him to stay and he even used Ian’s first name, so it’s a Big Fucking Deal, but they both pretend like it isn’t.

***

One night Ian doesn’t get back home until a little after eleven, but everyone’s still awake, even Liam. All six of them pretend that they weren’t waiting up for him. But they don’t treat him any different at least, he gets a warm welcome and everyone resumes milling about. He’s talking to Carl who’s only fourteen but honestly should know better than to think giving a stuffed squirrel is not the way to impress a girl when Fiona corners him. She has to practically pry him away because he knows she wants to talk about shit he wants to remain undiscussed, but she gets him up eventually and drags him to a quiet corner near the stairs.

She starts, “You doin’ okay?”

He doesn’t make eye contact with her, “Yeah, m’fine. You know doing the rounds, getting a good look around before I ship off.”

She winces, the finality in his voice, how he broke through the pathetic glass walls they’d built around themselves that promised everything would be okay. Brothers didn’t go off to war in that world, people stayed alive, they stayed whole.

She starts again, “I meant if you ever need anyone to talk to-“

He cuts her off and finally makes eye contact, “Fi, I’m doing fine. I promise. Don’t worry so much about me, I’m good. I’m going to be fine.” He wraps her in a tight hug and she kind of relaxes into him, like he’s given her some sort of permission, and they just hold each other for a moment.

Eventually, he pulls her back at arm’s length and promises her again, “Everything’s going to be okay.”  
***

Fiona gives him the biggest servings at dinner. He and Lip get high with some shitty weed underneath the El one night. Debbie fucking debates with him over the nation’s debt because she’s so damn smart and he doesn't know much, but he pretends to for her. He reads Liam a story each night before bed. Time passes.

Night before he ships out, he and Mickey fuck one last time. Now they drag it out; Ian pulls out all the goddamn stops and deepthroats Mickey and even makes him fucking beg at one point. Afterwards, they hold each other and Mickey doesn't comment about how fucking gay this is and Ian doesn't say anything, doesn't say a word the entire time.

There’s a big dinner that night and this time it’s just people Ian knows and wants there- Fiona, Lip, Debbie, Carl, Lip, Kev, Vee, their kid Zach, Mandy, and even fucking Mickey Milkovich, though Ian makes sure no one comments on that. When dinner winds down Ian gives himself a moment to look around and smile and let himself feel happy with the family he was stuck with and the people he chose. He wants to take it all in, the way Mickey is side eyeing him and starting to rub his foot against Ian’s under the table, how Carl and Debbie are bickering about whose turn it is to clean up, the way Mandy smiles at Lip sometimes, and lets out a chuckle when Fiona starts barking orders at everyone when the dinner winds down. He tries to take it all in, he tries to remember.

  
***

When Ian dies, no one says anything, not for days. About a year and half after their tearful goodbye at Chicago International, Debbie opens up the door to a solemn looking man who informs her that he’s very sorry, but Ian Gallagher has passed, just two days ago by a roadside bomb while stationed in Iraq.

Just like his Ian’s welcome home party, it feels like damn near all of Chicago shows up for the funeral. It’s a big fancy service and everything’s all taken care of by these really nice ladies with big shiny teeth that flash them these all-American smiles and big strong men who keep reminding them that Ian was handpicked for some special mission and who pat them heavily on the shoulder. It’s kind of funny how they keep fucking reminding everyone that Ian died because he such a great fucking soldier, like it would help. During the service Fiona cries so hard she can’t breathe and Lip tries to be strong but he still shows up wasted, and Debbie, who always thought that she loved Ian best, decides to let Hank fuck her after the service.

Ian’s name is never read aloud on early morning news shows by people likeBrian fucking Williams, those are reserved for heroes, which they decide he isn’t. Instead he gets a small obituary in The Chicago Tribune for two bucks a word that reads, _“On February 20th this week, beloved brother and friend Ian Gallagher died while stationed in Iraq. Behind him he leaves a family of seven and many dear friends. Services will be held on the 28th at ten in the morning at Reedley’s gravesite."_

It’s nothing impressive. He’s still just another street rat from Chicago.

His family copes but it’s suffocating to stare at the empty seat every night during each meal and too painful to look away when they find an old annotated book that was stuffed with Ian’s messy scribbles. He’s a ghost in their home that waits on the couch to be noticed and heavy pressure exerted every night at dinner over the quietness and awkward scuffle of food being passed out and the clatter of dishes. And that’s the end of Ian’s fucking story.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!! if you're so inclined please dole out some constructive criticism, it would mean a lot to me!


End file.
